


Dreamt of Hell

by i_amtheoutlaw



Series: Destiel Short Stories [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Hell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's dreaming, Cas wakes him. (pre-slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamt of Hell

The smell of burnt meat slowly seeps through the tiny hole at the top of the small stony room that’s been Dean’s home for the past thirty years. He lays still as a board, on the molten, muddy floor trying to avoid _him_ as long as possible. The pungent smell is now overtaking the room, and Dean faintly thinks back to a time when he could smell cows burning, instead of human skin. Dean hears shrieks of pain and howls of laughter, and he knows _he’s_ here.

_Alastair._

The demon opens the impossibly heavy, stone door and creeps inside. He’s baring a most vindictive grin upon his leathery face, and Dean knows the son of bitch must have something big planned for today. 

Dean pushes himself up at the sight of the smug Demon. 

“Did you miss me Deano?” The thing asks him, in the nicest voice a forked toothed, fanged demon can manage. 

Dean musters up his best flirtatious grin, knowing his teeth have grown back since yesterday’s torture, “You wish,” he replies and then spits at Alastair’s taloned feet. 

“Oh boy, I really wish you would just corporate with me, I’m getting tired of messing up that pretty little face,” The demon jokes. 

Dean snorts, and watches as the demons eyes go ice white for a second then ease their way back to their normal, eternal, burning color.

Alistair stomps over, and grabs Dean up. One hand on his throat, cutting off any air flow Dean was managing around all the smoke; and his other hand finds Dean’s side right under his ribs.

“You think I’m playing son? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve today” The demon asks, as he morphs smoothly into John Winchester. 

This isn’t the first time Alistair has dressed up as Dean’s father while he’s tortured him, matter of fact over the past thirty years Alastair has used the image of just about anyone he’s ever cared for. Dean can handle this.

“You really think that’s gonna break me Alastair?” Dean spits, “we’ve been through this before!”

That’s when Dean hears it, loud scrap of stone on stone as another demon creeps in.

Only the other demon looks like Sammy, at about age fourteen. Long shaggy hair and all. Dean almost smiles, _damn you know you’ve been in hell to long when you start to sincerely smile at the demons who are playing minds games on you,_ Dean thinks.

The Sam demon looks frightened, and runs over to Dean and wraps him in a tight embrace. Dean quizzically stares down at the form holding on to him. He knows it’s not really his brother but he can’t help but wrap his arms around the child and feel his smooth skin. What he would give to feel that sensation again, holding his brother, or honestly just any human skin in general. The only contact he normally has is with Alistair, and his skin isn’t like humans, it’s rough and course; it scratches and burns. And Dean’s skin hasn’t been normal since the eleventh year, despite not having a mirror, he figures his looks like Alistair’s now. 

Alistair still looking like John, leaps over and rips the fake Sam from Dean’s arms. The loss is painful but Dean keeps himself together, and stands upright. 

John—Alistair—produces a knife from inside his dads leather jacket, the one Dean wore on earth, and briefly hopes the real Sam is wearing right now. 

The blades shines through the smoky darkness; and I hear the fake Sam gasp as the demon brings the smooth blade against his neck and—

All of the sudden Dean feels a warm tingle, spread throughout his left shoulder, and feels as if his whole world is being shaken.

Dean wakes to find Cas sitting next to him on the bed, wide blue eyes filled with concern, shaking him awake. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas’s gravelly voice rings through Dean’s tired ears and Dean remembers, and is relieved.

_He’s not in Hell anymore because he was saved._

“Thanks Cas,” Dean murmurs, and rolls over to face the angel. 

Dean sees Cas’s steady hand rise, and the way he brings two long, boney fingers to Dean’s forehead. Normally Dean would tell him to stop him, tell him to cut the mojo crap, but not tonight. He lets Cas put him in a deep, sound sleep and is instantly out.

All he dreams of now is blue.


End file.
